


Fear in a Handful of Dust

by muses_circle



Series: We All Fall series [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/M, Gen, post-season 3, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muses_circle/pseuds/muses_circle
Summary: Those are pearls that were his eyes. - T.S. Eliot, "The Wasteland"
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: We All Fall series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059086
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot, one of my favorite poets and poems. I'm so interested in what Sam wa doing the four months Dean was dead that I've decided to write about it.

Standing in front of his brother’s grave was the hardest thing he had ever done – worse than all the demons and scary creatures he’d faced. He watched his shadow fall on the simple but crude crucifix he had made with the first two pieces of wood he spotted on the ground nearby. The freshly dug earth, dark and muddy, mocked him, told the tales he didn’t want to hear: _Dean is dead. You watched him get ripped to pieces by Hellhounds. He’s in eternal torment because of you._  
  
Sam winced as if in physical pain and ran a hand down his face to scrub the emotions off his face. He should be dead, too: Lillith tried to gank him but couldn’t. What was it that had saved his life, anyhow? Why couldn’t he have accessed it long before, so he could’ve found a way to keep Dean from the pit?  
  
The thoughts pierced through him like a thunderbolt, and he clenched his fists. The bitch would pay, he thought. For all the havoc she’d wreaked, he would track her down and make her suffer.  
  
But first things first.  
  
“Sam, I still think we should’ve burned Dean’s body,” Bobby said next to him.  
  
Startled a little, Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and continued to stare at the grave. “Not going to have that argument again, Bobby,” Sam said. “He’s going to need a body when . . .” He shut his mouth and shook his head. No sense in letting Bobby in on his plans – especially since Sam figured the older man would try and find a way to stop them.  
  
“When _what_?” Bobby asked. Sam heard the mixture of despair, concern, and curiosity mingled in the question. “What have you got planned, Sam?”  
  
“Nothing, just . . .” Sam sighed and turned his back on his brother’s grave – turning his back on the body lying in the cold ground, with nothing but a pine box to protect him. “Dean’s gotta have a body when he comes back.” He began to walk towards the Impala – _his_ car now – and ignored the look of surprise on Bobby’s face.  
  
“Kid, what you got planned?” Bobby shouted. “Dean’s dead, and he’s not coming back.”  
  
But Sam kept walking, his long legs closing the distance to the Impala. He slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, closing his eyes to fight the tears that threatened to fall. Tears he refused to shed. What use were they, anyway? Sucking in several deep breaths, he fumbled for the keys.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Sam noticed that Bobby had caught up to the car and was standing in front of it, arms crossed, eyes sharp as daggers. “What about Emma?” he called out. “You tell her yet?”  
  
He stared at Bobby as he found the key and put it into the ignition, mind whirling with the realization that he hadn’t spoken to Emma Boudreaux in weeks. He’d promised to tell her whether . . . Sam swallowed hard and shut down his thoughts altogether. “You tell her, Bobby,” he said and started the Impala, Metallica blaring on the radio. He switched it off and vowed never to listen to classic rock ever again, not unless Dean was sitting in the car with him. Sam had to believe that was a possibility.  
  
Backing the Impala onto the lonely two way road that stretched to nowhere, Sam Winchester took off, tires squealing, into the dusky afternoon. He had work to do.  
  


  
**_Twenty-four hours later . . ._**  
  
Emma glanced at the calendar on her office desk and frowned. Three days had passed since Dean’s date with Hellhounds was due, and she hadn’t heard anything. No word on whether he was alive or not. A thought niggled at the back of her mind, but she clamped down on it and the gut feeling saying Dean wasn’t okay . . . and neither was Sam.  
  
She found her cell phone and checked for new texts. Nothing. Scrolling back through her messages, Emma saw the last correspondence she’d gotten from the youngest Winchester: _Think I found the answer._ What that entailed, she never did figure out, mostly because all her inquiry texts went unanswered. Despite her desire to call Sam and force some answers out of him, she had refrained. Past history stated he wasn’t going to answer, nor return any voicemail she might leave. If it was important, Sam called. And for whatever reason, Sam hadn’t thought it important to let Emma in on how Dean’s date with destiny turned out.  
  
The problem was, Emma had begun to hear things within the hunter community. Her initial conversation with Bobby Singer had opened up doors that she’d never considered before; among other things, Bobby began using her as a source of information, even as a contact to keep tabs on hunters in her neck of the woods. The last few months had seen a rise in not only her skill as a researcher but also as a go-between for a few hunters living on the Gulf Coast. Though she still had a lot to learn, Emma couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride that these hunters – the earthly, anonymous guardians over humanity – sometimes relied on her resources to get them out of potentially sticky situations.  
  
Word had gotten around about Dean Winchester’s impending expiration date: hunters were smart and resourceful, and they considered anything related to one of their own vitally important. The last Emma had heard from one of her contacts was that Dean’s brother Sam was still looking for a way to prevent the deal from happening, and that the brothers and Bobby Singer were going after the demon who held the contact: Lillith.  
  
Emma had done her research on the demon called Lillith – and all the legends that surrounded her. She shuddered at the thought of what this demon was capable of and wondered if the Winchesters and Bobby had managed to exorcise her. Surely, if such an event had taken place, _someone_ would have mentioned it by now.  
  
Worried about all three men, Emma found Sam’s number and hit the _Send_ button – and held her breath as she waited for the call to connect. When all she got was a voicemail, Emma hung up with a frustrated sigh. Why would she expect Sam to call her, anyway? If he _had_ gotten Dean a ‘get out of Hell free’ card, wouldn’t they be celebrating somewhere? She was sure she’d get a phone call soon.  
  
But as the afternoon wore on, Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her office was too quietly restless, like an invisible force was there, trying to press upon her something important. So rather than finish the stack of essays waiting to be read, Emma called Bobby.  
  
“Bobby, what’s going on?” she asked when he answered.  
  
“Emma?”  
  
“No, it’s your fairy godmother.”  
  
“Funny, you’re funny,” Bobby said after a moment’s hesitation, and Emma noticed the toneless manner in which he spoke. Normally he enjoyed her snark and kidding. Her stomach twisted with butterflies.  
  
“I’m serious,” she insisted and leaned her arms on her desk. “Haven’t heard from Sam in awhile, but it sounded like he was onto something. Did he find a way to set Dean free?”  
  
Thick, tense silence came from the other end and caused Emma to swallow hard and hope this wasn’t some macho, manly way of conveying emotion. Finally, she heard Bobby whisper, “I told that boy to call you.”  
  
Emma felt her entire body go numb, the shock over Bobby’s words slowly sinking in. “Dean’s dead, isn’t he?” she said, her voice sounding hollow to her ears.  
  
“Yeah.” Bobby sighed. “Hellhounds got him.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Going on three days now.”  
  
“Three days? Bobby, why didn’t anyone call and tell me?” Mostly, Emma wanted to know why _Sam_ hadn’t, but she had a sneaking suspicion he was too consumed with grief to think outside his pain. Didn’t stop her from feeling like she’d been sucker punched a few times.  
  
“I figured you’d have heard by now,” Bobby said. “I told Sam to call you.”  
  
Emma shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do I want to know how Sam’s doing?” she whispered, fearful of the answer.  
  
“No, you don’t,” Bobby replied, “but I’m gonna tell you anyway. He took off for who knows where yesterday, after we buried Dean. He’s pretty messed up.”  
  
Emma’s eyes shot open at Bobby’s emotionless, matter-of-fact voice. Sam wasn’t the only one torn to shreds over this. “Sounds like you could use some company, too, Bobby,” she said, unsure how to convey the fact that she hurt for him almost as much as Sam. He was only a voice over the phone, but she’d considered him a friend for a long time.  
  
“Believe me, Sam needs your company more,” Bobby said. “’Sides, I got Jim and Jack to keep me company.”  
  
“Know where he went?” she asked.  
  
“Dunno. I’ve tried looking for him, but no such luck.”  
  
“Where’d you bury Dean?”  
  
“Outside Pontiac, Illinois.”  
  
“Then I’m going to start there.” Emma stood up and grabbed her purse. With the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder, she dug into her bag, located her keys, and walked out of her office quickly. “I can be there in a few hours. Isn’t that near Chicago?”  
  
“Emma, I gotta tell ya, Sam doesn’t want to be found,” Bobby protested. “That kid’s got something going on, and odds are he ain’t gonna want anyone around to get in his way.”  
  
“Too bad for him, then, because I’m going to find him.” She practically ran to her car, and lost no time in getting in and starting the engine. The despair had settled around her heart, but Emma didn’t have the luxury of time to give in and dissolve into a puddle of emotion. That would come later, if and when she found Sam and tried to offer him the comfort and consolation he needed – assuming he’d want it.  
  
“Sam know how you feel about him?” Bobby asked after a moment, which surprised her and forced her to stop at the entrance to the university and wait for the long line of traffic to pass.  
  
“He knows I’m his friend,” she said with a frown.  
  
“Uh huh,” Bobby said slowly. She swore the man was studying her through the phone, to the point that it made her uncomfortable. However, before she had a chance to say something about it, he continued. “Might have a possible lead on where he might be. It’s a long shot, but worth a check.”  
  
“Okay,” Emma replied and nodded slightly. “I’m all ears.”  
  
“Just do two things for me, will ya?”  
  
“Anything for my informant, _cher_.”  
  
“Make sure he stays out of trouble, and tell him how you _really_ feel, okay?”  
  
“Uh, sure thing.” As she steered out onto the highway towards her condo, Emma felt her heart pound nervously in her chest. How in the hell did Bobby Singer know she loved Sam? Hadn’t she done a decent enough job of keeping that fact under wraps? The last thing she figured Sam wanted to hear was that someone else loved him. Might make the guy become more determined to keep her out of his path, and the last thing she wanted was to alienate Sam.  
  
“Emma,” Bobby said knowingly. “I’m serious.”  
  
Emma snorted. “And I said ‘okay’, okay? Now, where do you think Sam’s gone?”  
  


  
**_Pontiac, Illinois_**  
  
Emma felt the tremor of a smile on her lips when she spotted the ’67 Impala parked inside the parking lot of a dilapidated motel. One of those fleabit places Sam always complained about on several occasions, she remembered as she pulled her rental into the space next to the sleek, black car.  
  
She glanced at the gaudy, flashing neon sign: _The Motorcoach Motel_. It was the last place Bobby had told her to look, since the Winchesters tended to find places to crash just on the outskirts of town. Probably it served as a quick getaway scheme in case they ever got wrapped up in trouble.  
  
Shutting off the engine, Emma opened the door and got out. She stretched her legs and stared at the front office, enclosed in only thick glass. Between the long flight and then in the car searching for Sam, she was exhausted. Nerves strung tighter than a guitar string, the last thing she was prepared to do was confront a grieving Sam Winchester. However, despite her fatigue, Emma knew she had to see him tonight – if for no other reason than to let him know how much she wished she could make things right.  
  
The intense ache around her heart swelled, constricting her chest to the point where it hurt to breathe. What happened seemed impossible: Hellhounds, demonic pit bulls, had shred Dean into little, tiny pieces . . . and according to Bobby, Sam had watched the whole thing.  
  
A small sob escaped her lips as she forced her legs to move towards the office. _I’m not going to break down_ , she chanted. _Sam doesn’t need some weepy woman flying across country seeking comfort._ He _needs_ me. _I’m doing this for him. I’m not going to let him go through this alone._  
  
She had made a promise, that she’d be wherever he needed her to be, no matter where she had to go. Because he was her friend. Because she hoped he considered _her_ a friend. What Emma hadn’t counted on was the realization that, after watching Sam leave all those months ago, she knew the emotion and decision behind her words was motivated by love. It was so much more than friendship and helping out another fellow human being, and all about needing to be the kind of woman who could handle whatever life threw at her man.  
  
Never had Emma considered the consequences of the heavy-handed fast ball that knocked Sam out.  
  
She walked through the clear, glass door and asked for Jason Mann’s room. The guy gave her a funny look but pointed her in the right direction. Within moments, she stood outside Sam’s door.  
  
Part of her wanted to press her ear against the door and listen for sound coming from behind the door. It was so quiet: no movement indicated life existed on the other side. Hesitating for a moment, Emma rapped loudly and waited.  
  
After a few moments, the door swung open and a figure on the other side appeared. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a familiar stranger standing in front of her. Sam’s face looked hollow and empty, as if the heart that once beat strong and true in his breast had been yanked out. His shoulders slouched, making him look several inches shorter. This Sam looked nothing like _her_ Sam. The hazel eyes staring back at her were completely void of all emotion and thought. She could have been looking at the figure of a dead man.  
  
“Sam?” she asked softly, trying not to let her voice resound in the narrow hallway.  
  
A glimmer of surprise crossed his face. “What are you doing here, Emma?” he asked dully and leaned against the doorjamb.  
  
“Looking for you, _cher_ ,” she replied and tried to smile. “I heard about Dean and –” A muscle in Sam’s jaw tensed at the mention of his brother, so she continued quickly. “– and Bobby told me where to find you.”  
  
His head bobbled up and down; Emma wasn’t sure if that meant he was listening or trying his best at mimicking the toy dog bobblehead you put in the rear window of your car.  
  
“He’s worried about you, like I am,” she continued. “Sam, I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”  
  
“Don’t I look okay?”  
  
Emma had to purse her lips together to keep from barking out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I think you’d make a great candidate for ‘Zombie of the Year’.” She made a step to move into his room, but Sam wouldn’t get out of the way. “You gonna let me in?”  
  
For a second it looked like Sam was going to do no such thing, which rocked her barely held-together frame of mind. However, something on her face must have made him change his mind. Sam stepped back and let her walk inside the dark room.  
  
With the door shut behind her, they were shrouded in darkness. Emma wondered if this was the state of Sam’s mind as she groped around to find the nearest flat surface to sit on. When her knees bumped against the edge of the bed, she muttered, “Ow. Are you suddenly allergic to lights now?”  
  
“Sorry,” Sam muttered and flipped a switch. Two antiquated lamps illuminated the room with a sickly yellowish light.  
  
Settling on the bed, Emma cleared her throat. “Nice digs you got here,” she commented with a wry smile on her face. “Mind if I crash here for the night?” Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper and multi-colored 1970’s shag carpet. Anything to keep from looking directly at Sam.  
  
“Why, got something in mind?” he asked, voice dripping with innuendo.  
  
“Yeah, I flew five hundred miles just to get laid.” Emma snorted and glared at him. “Like I said, I heard about . . . and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”  
  
“I’m great. Thanks for stopping by.”  
  
“What is this now, a fast food joint?”  
  
Sam leaned against the wall and smirked at her. “I’m not the one who chose to shag ass to see some random dude who flits in and out of her life just to make sure he’s okay.”  
  
“Think what you want, Winchester,” she replied and glared at him. “You’re the one doing the _flitting_. I’m just here checking on a _friend_. You remember what those are?”  
  
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”  
  
“Friendship. You know, where you _call_ the other person when something bad happens? Like when Dean died?” Emma shot off the bed and closed the space between them. “Why the hell didn’t you call me? You _promised_ , ya big lug.”  
  
“Excuse me if I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Sam pushed himself off the wall and stood up straight and tall, a barrier of muscle that she supposed was meant to frighten her. All it did was anger her.  
  
“ _Preoccupied_? That what you call ditching your friends and trying to disappear off the map for a little while?” she demanded and poked him square in the chest with her index finger. “Leaving me and Bobby to wonder if you were going to off yourself?”  
  
“Honey, that wasn’t trying,” he said.  
  
Emma rolled her eyes, annoyed by the sarcasm she heard in his voice. “Then either you’re really bad at it, or Bobby’s a damn mastermind.”  
  
“I’m surprised he knew what name I’d be using,” Sam commented, and Emma noticed his guard drop long enough for his eyes to betray the relief at knowing someone gave a damn that he was still alive.  
  
“Give the man some credit, will ya? Besides, I wasn’t taking no for an answer.”  
  
“Yeah, about that . . .”  
  
“Save it, Sam. I’m just stubborn enough to find your sorry ass.” She sighed and went to turn away.  
  
“Great. Now you’ve seen me. Here,” he said and grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him and watching him slap her fingers against his chest and arms, “I’m real. Solid. Flesh and blood. Not hurt or bleeding or dying.” He dropped her hand abruptly. “Satisfied now?”  
  
“Not nearly,” she muttered, rubbing her wrist a little. “You might look good physically – which, by the way, is a total lie – but I know you’re a wreck inside.” She took another step towards him, even as he backed away from her. “I know what you’re going through, how much you hurt. I’ve been there, remember?”  
  
“Tell me, Emma,” Sam said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, “did you watch your parents get chewed on and clawed up by invisible dogs? Watched the flesh from their skin rip away like pieces of paper, and their blood squirt like a geyser?”  
  
Emma felt her entire body go stiff with horror, and she was sure her face blanched at the series of images Sam presented.  
  
“Then excuse me for calling ‘bullshit’ on you, because you have no idea what I’m going through.” Turning, Sam grabbed his jacket and reached for his keys. “Crash here if you want. I’m not coming back.”  
  
“Oh no, you don’t,” she hissed under her breath and followed him out the door and down the hall. As volatile as Sam seemed, Emma was afraid of what he might do: what he might be capable of doing to himself and others. “You’re right,” she called as she raced to keep up with him. “I don’t know what you’re going through. But dammit, I understand that kind of loss!”  
  
She had just about caught up to him when Sam whipped around and grabbed her by her upper arms. “Okay, teach,” he whispered and pulled her body close to his. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going through my head? Read my mind and see if what you notice is appealing.”  
  
Putting her palms against his chest to steady herself, Emma looked into Sam’s emotionless face and wondered at the dull, empty orbs. The pain that resonated there like a bell, the anger and self-loathing that clearly was showing itself despite the trouble Sam had no doubt taken to control. Fear and uncertainty flashed in those hazel depths and made Emma want to share his burden, so he didn’t have to do it all alone.  
  
“You’re alone,” she whispered after a moment and dug her fingers into his jacket to keep from caressing his cheek. “You’re angry and alone, and there’s nothing you can do about either one. Won’t bring Dean back; won’t do any good to take it out on yourself or something else, because the pain’s so bad, you wonder if it’ll ever go away.”  
  
A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked furiously.  
  
“I don’t know what you saw, and if it were up to me, I’d take those images away forever,” she continued in a soft voice. “But there’s nothing that’ll fix that. And I thought you should know that . . . well, _I’m_ here for you. For whatever you want or need, I’ll be there. Because you’re my . . . friend.”  
  
Emma hesitated as she spoke, unsure how Sam would receive her addresses; despite the sudden intense need to let him know about her true feelings, something held her back. He wouldn’t want to hear it. Not now. Maybe not ever. And as she watched Sam search for the words to answer her, she wondered if his friendship would be enough . . . and whether any of that ever mattered, so long as he was willing to take what she had to offer.  
  
A wry smile crossed Sam’s lips as he backed away from her, releasing her arms. “Then take my advice. Go away and forget about me.” His voice was low and rough.  
  
Emma blinked in surprise. “What?”  
  
“It’s for your own good, trust me on this.” He turned and strode towards the Impala, leaving her behind him, feet rooted to the ground.  
  
“You are _not_ going to walk out on me like that, Sam Winchester,” she said and took off after him. Just as the rumble of the Impala’s engine sounded, Emma reached the passenger side door and yanked it open. Fortunately it was unlocked – a force of habit, she assumed. Sliding into the seat next to Sam, she shut the door and pushed down the lock.  
  
Sam turned and glared at her. “What part of _get lost_ don’t you get?”  
  
With her seatbelt buckled, Emma crossed her arms and smirked. “I’m going with you.”  
  
“No way, it’s dangerous.”  
  
“Yeah, gonna go off and do something stupid, _cher_?”  
  
“I’m _hunting_. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”  
  
“’Bout time I got some action in. Not that last year didn’t scare the devil outta me, but since I’m doing so much research for hunters these days, it’d be nice to get a bird’s eye view of what y’all _really_ do.”  
  
“Wait, you’re doing _research_ for hunters?”  
  
“Did I stutter? I’ve had a life too, ya know, since the last time we saw each other.”  
  
He shot her a look before looking out of the windshield. “But . . . why?”  
  
“Why not? Bobby said y’all’d need help from time to time. I wanted to see if I’d be useful, what with all the research I’ve been doing lately.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”  
  
Sam gripped the steering wheel until they turned white. “It’s dangerous, Emma.”  
  
“Got that the first time you said it,” she pointed out.  
  
“Don’t you get it?”  
  
“No, but I’d love it if you spelled it out for me.”  
  
Sam hit the steering wheel in aggravation. “Dammit, Em, you could stuck in a hole you can’t dig yourself out of!”  
  
The force of his angry voice curled her toes with fright. When had Sam become so forceful? Was this simply the grief talking? “It’s not like I’m packing a shotgun and carrying an exorcism book around in case I run into a demon.”  
  
“But you could be on the radar,” he replied and ran his hands over the steering wheel. “Demons know when someone’s aiding and abetting the enemy.”  
  
“And I take it y’all are the enemy?”  
  
His glance in her direction told Emma everything: more than likely, a demon out there knew what she was up to. She could be on a hit list or part of some demonic master plan. Cold prickles of fear ran along her spine: she hadn’t considered the possibility that someone had been watching her. Not that it mattered, of course: she was going to continue what she was doing, no matter what.  
  
She sucked in a breath and tried to smile. “All the more reason for you to stick around me. Might need some protection.”  
  
Sam smirked at her and opened the driver’s side door. “No way. You’re staying put in the room. It’s safer there, believe me.” He slid out of the car and walked around the front; Emma watched him move with the grace of a panther stalking prey – quick and agile, graceful and deadly. Despite his apparent anguish and irritation, Emma found him more appealing than ever.  
  
Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to give a second thought to her churning emotions, because in one swift move, Sam had opened the passenger side door and was reaching for her safety belt. A squeak escaped her lips as she attempted to fight him off – a losing battle, considering he was nearly twice her size. With the belt unfastened and out of the way, Sam scooped her up and pulled her from the car.  
  
“Hey!” she shouted and pushed at him. “Put me down! I’m going with you, dammit!” With one free hand, she beat against his chest, which only emphasized the fact that Sam was solid muscle. His arms cradled her against his chest and held her firmly. Much to her dismay, she watched Sam shut the car door with one foot and then turn towards the hotel.  
  
“I _said_ –”  
  
“Tough,” he interrupted her and pushed his way through the side door and down the hall towards his room. He put her down only to fish the keys out of his pocket, which only required one hand; the other held her wrist like a vice grip. “This is for your own good, Em.”  
  
“But I wanna be with you,” she said. “Helping you out, remember? Don’t you _get_ it?” She felt his hand on the small of her back, propelling her into the room.  
  
“This is better, because you’re only going to get in my way. Don’t go anywhere.”  
  
Before she had a chance to utter a complaint or protest his pigheadedness, Sam pulled out of the room, and shut and locked the door behind him. Minutes later, she heard the familiar sound of the Impala start up – its engine singing a song of celebration – and pull out of the driveway towards his destination.  
  
Dejected and suddenly exhausted, Emma fell back onto one of the beds and looked at the ceiling. _What’d you expect, wine and roses and a ‘Hey, how’s it going’?_ she argued with herself. _The man’s been through hell. He’s grieving and hurting. He doesn’t want your help._  
  
Her heart, however, spoke another tune – of a longing she’d not felt in a long time. There had to be some way to reach Sam, to snap him out of whatever mindset he’d created for himself. Unfortunately, Emma no longer believed she was capable of such a feat.  
  
Sam had lost the most important person in his life, and now he felt alone. Was she up to the task of showing him that there was still meaning? That someone else loved him and wanted him and cared about him? Was she ready to admit that she was the other person in his life, the one to help him break down the barriers that he’d built?  
  
Admitting to herself that she loved Sam was the hardest thing she’d ever done – worse than watching her parents die and hunting with the Winchesters all those months ago. What was worse, she had no assurance of his returning her love, but the fact that she _did_ love him made her more determined to make sure he didn’t completely lose touch with the rest of the world.  
  
Emma watched the shadows play on the ceiling and sighed heavily. Depressed and confused, heart aching for Sam, she knew she had a battle of her own ahead. Whether Sam chose to fight her or not remained to be seen.  
  
She turned her face into the pillow and inhaled the all-too-familiar scent there: Sam. He’d been using this bed to sleep, and that knowledge comforted her a little. Kicking off her shoes, Emma snuggled beneath the covers and buried her face into Sam’s pillow, pretending he was there with her, arms around each other in comfort and protection. The feelings her thoughts evoked warmed her and reminded her that Sam was worth saving. He was the kind of man who only came around once in a lifetime, and there was no way she’d give him up without a fight.  
  
Hoping he would return, she resolved to stay awake and wait for him, but soon she found her eyelids heavy with sleep, with the fatigue and rawness of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...at my back in a cold blast I hear / The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. - T.S. Eilot's "The Wasteland"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own any of the characters belonging to Kripke and Supernatural, but the girl’s all mine.

The demon stuck underneath the Devil’s Trap screamed as Sam threw a large bucket of holy water onto its host. Torturing a demon was difficult, since very little bothered or scared them. Sam’s glittering, angry gaze watched the thing inside its victim writhe in pain, and he began chanting the familiar exorcism chant to make it see things his way.   
  
“You think a little Latin’s gonna hurt me?” the thing sneered through the thick smoke that lingered in the air.   
  
Sam stopped and twisted his lips into a smile. “Couldn’t hurt. I could keep this up all night.” He whispered a few words in Latin and watched the body convulse in pain: the demon was beginning to lose its grip.   
  
Despite its obvious battle, the thing laughed, a mocking sound that churned the hate inside Sam’s heart. “Please, bring it on. Nothing compared to what Lillith’ll do if word gets out I bargained with a pathetic excuse for a human being.”   
  
“Afraid the demon bitch herself’s going to find out?”   
  
“Screw you. I’d rather be sent back to hell than make any sort of bargain. ‘Sides, you got nothing I want.” The thing smirked hatefully. “Too much fun watching your suffering because your brother’s flesh is roasting in eternal fire and probably being greeted by my friends now.”   
  
A sudden flare of intense hatred threatened to overwhelm Sam and made him wish he knew how to physically yank the demon from the human body in order that it might understand the true definition of pain. “No deal? Have a nice trip.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated all his anger towards exorcising the demon and sending it packing.   
  
The words came quickly, quietly, a mumbled drone that might have been mistaken prayer if not for the angry intonation of the words. Sam blocked out everything: the sounds of the demon struggling to hold onto its position, of the wind whistling through the abandoned building.   
  
For a second, he felt the faint stirring of something deep inside of him: a power, buried in his body, aching to reach out and help him drag the demon back to where it belonged. It flared for a second before recoiling back into its original place. Rocked to the core, Sam opened his eyes to find the demon gone – and the body of its host crumpled on the ground.   
  
He rushed over to feel the inert figure’s pulse and was relieved to discover there was a faint, erratic pulse. Not the best he hoped for, but perhaps the person would survive after all. Sam pulled out his cell phone and called for an ambulance, and then pulled the body out into the middle of the floor. Once he’d wiped his prints, Sam headed for the Impala, intent on being long gone before the police showed up.   
  
Only when he was back on the highway did he think about the surge of power he’d felt during the exorcism. Something had stirred because of his concentrated effort to pull the demon out of its host. Sam had never felt it before, and he wasn’t sure how to react. The hint of fear settled in the pit of his stomach, and for the first time he wondered if _this_ was what Lillith had feared when she had unsuccessfully tried to off him a week ago.   
  
He gripped the steering wheel and fought back a yawn. Three days on the road, and where had it gotten him? Nowhere. He had managed to trap and exorcise two demons, trying to get them to strike a deal with him to get Dean out of hell, and both times they’d preferred the pit over dealing with the aftermath of such a decision.   
  
What he needed was a shower, a couple beers, and two days’ worth of sleep. Maybe not in that order. And with Pontiac about six hours away, Sam figured he could make it before morning and crash for awhile before plotting his next step . . . whatever that would be.   
  
He rubbed his face wearily, trying to ease his sore, tense jaws. _I’m wound tighter than a rubber band,_ he thought and sighed. _But it’s the only thing I got left. No one’s going to talk me out of this . . . Not even Emma._   
  
Sam’s stomach clenched. He’d left her back in Pontiac without any word on when – or if – he’d return. Even though he’d left some stuff at that room – meaningless pieces of research, a change of clothes – there had been little other reason to return. Emma’s presence there hadn’t registered since leaving her.   
  
Assuming she _was_ still there.   
  
Cranking up the radio to drown out his thoughts, Sam drove towards Pontiac at breakneck speed, squelching the hope that Emma would be waiting for him. She, at least, had claimed she wasn’t giving up on him but talk was cheap. The true test would come when Sam walked through that hotel door and discovered whether she’d stayed put or decided to take off after him.   
  


  
  
The drive back was long and hard – he’d nearly fallen asleep at the wheel a couple of times, and only the squeal of tires or the feel of the car veering off the road forced him to maintain a forced sense of alertness. Along with Dean’s voice in his mind: _Break my girl and I’ll break you._   
  
His hands gripped the steering wheel as Sam ground his teeth and pushed the emptiness back. He didn’t want to acknowledge that Dean’s death was all his fault, that he hadn’t found the answer . . . and that Dean refused to let Sam entertain the possibility of using whatever abilities he possessed to save his brother from the pit. Deep down inside, Sam resented Dean for that dying wish. I If only he’d been able to learn what Ruby had to teach him . . .   
  
With a sigh, he grabbed is iPod and shut it off, because the music did nothing to sooth his mind. Part of him wanted to plug the Impala into a tree and crush himself in the process – anything to keep from _feeling_. But when he got Dean back, Sam knew the Impala needed to be in top notch shape. That was what Dean would have wanted.   
  
Fortunately, Sam reached Pontiac and the hotel before he could put his thoughts into practice. A slight sigh of relief escaped his lips as he parked the car and got out. Maybe seeing Emma wasn’t a good idea. He should have left her wondering and never returned. Should’ve left him to his misery, because that was all he had left.   
  
The room was empty when he walked through the door, though signs of life existed. Rumpled bed sheets indicated the maid had not been in to clean the last twenty-four hours, while the other double bed looked untouched, save for a small pile of clothing and a couple books. Emma had been sleeping in his bed, he realized. The hint of her scent hung in the air and cut him: she’d stayed here and waited for him.   
  
Slamming the door, he walked around the room and noticed all the usual signs of protection – salt lined the windowsill and at the bottom of the door. The lines looked relatively fresh, so she must have laid them. He went to the bed and grabbed the pillows from the unkempt bed: a small knife rested underneath.   
  
_When had she started sleeping with a weapon?_ The thought slashed across his mind and added fuel to his already tormented thoughts. Sam had no doubt that before she met him, Emma lived a normal, _safe_ life. The blade wasn’t his, so he assumed this development was because she felt the danger that lurked in every shadow and sought to protect herself.   
  
He sagged onto the bed and put the pillows aside. A glance at the clock told him it was quite late. Where the hell was she? Sam dug his phone from his pocket and found her number. He hit the ‘send’ button and held his breath as he lifted it to his ear and waited.   
  
_Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring . . .  
  
Hey, this is Prof. Boudreaux. Leave a message if you’re a student, and text me if you’re not._   
  
Sam frowned and scrolled to his text screen. Was this how she communicated with hunters, via text? He quickly punched in a question and sent it off: _Where are you?_   
  
Figuring she’d text back quickly, Sam leaned back into the soft mattress and sighed heavily. The bed was calling to him, begging for him to sleep, just like his growling stomach demanded to be fed. Sam wished he knew which one would be the better choice. His eyes drifted shut as the physical and mental fatigue overcame him.   
  
When he opened his eyes next, it was morning. The bright sun shone into the room and directly in Sam’s eyes, and with a groan he struggled to sit up. His first thought turned to Dean, to the pine box that held his body – and the fact that his brother was suffering eternal torments in hell. The same images flashed in his mind, serving as a reminder that his life was a pathetic joke that no one got.   
  
Groggily he looked around the room and rubbed his eyes to wipe the sleep and the hurtful images away. “Emma?” he asked, his sleepy voice filling the emptiness of the room. It was then he realized she wasn’t there.   
  
Sam fumbled through the sheets until he found his phone. No text message, no voicemail. In fact, there was no indication that Emma had tried to call him during the night. Worry replaced the numbness that had settled over his heart: was she okay? Did she run into trouble somewhere? _Was she still alive?_   
  
As the panicked thoughts raced through his mind, he started rummaging through the stuff on the other bed and the small table for clues as to her whereabouts. Despite the books stuffed with stray papers with notes scribbled on them, Sam couldn’t find any reason why Emma hadn’t returned. There weren’t any hunters in the area that he knew of. Bobby had taken off days ago. She wasn’t trying to _find_ him, was she?   
  
Sam kicked himself for his stupidity; he should never have left her. His first priority should have been getting her on the first plane back to Gulfport and _then_ going after those demons. For all he knew, Emma was dead in a ditch or suffering at the hands of some demonic force – perhaps Lillith herself.   
  
The analytical part of his brain kicked in and began asking questions. _Who does she know that lives here? Was she also doing some research for a hunter while she was here? How quickly could he find her personal info and use it to track the GPS in her phone?_   
  
While the first two questions eluded him – mostly because Sam hadn’t taken the time to ask her about her new part-time occupation when he left her – he knew the answer to the third. He grabbed his laptop from his bag and booted it up. While he waited, he thought about calling Bobby. While he had no desire to be drilled on his whereabouts, Sam figured maybe Bobby knew where she was. It was a long shot, but one worth taking. Finding Emma was the priority because Sam wasn’t going to lose her, too.   
  
After several rings and Bobby’s voicemail, Sam’s worry turned into full-blown anxiety. It wasn’t like Bobby _not_ to answer his phone, which meant one of two things. Either the older hunter was on a case and the phone was silenced, or something was wrong. Sam’s gut cried out the latter. As he tossed his phone onto the table and picked up his laptop, he wondered if he had made a huge mistake in letting his grief for Dean get in the way of the fact that two other people in this crappy world gave a damn about him. He’d never forgive himself if he lost them.   
  


  
  
Much to his relief and chagrin, hacking into Emma’s cell phone account had been easy, and according to the GPS readings, she was still in the Pontiac area, just on the other side of town. What she was doing there, he had no idea. However, it didn’t stop him from jumping into the Impala and hauling ass across town towards the address he’d located.   
  
2785 Chestnut Drive turned out to be a mom and pop diner, practically hidden between to larger buildings in the downtown area, and based on the fairly crowded parking lot, the diner’s morning business was in full swing. Sam found a parking spot and maneuvered the Impala into it, all the while surveying the immediate area for signs of Emma – even though he didn’t know what kind of car she was driving. As he got out and headed towards the front door, he caught a glimpse of an old, beaten up Chevelle a few spots over, and swore under his breath.   
  
Bobby was here. Maybe that meant Emma was with him.   
  
It didn’t take him long to spot them as he strode towards the diner. They were sitting in a booth next to one of the large glass windows, obviously in a serious discussion. Sam noticed Emma’s frowning face as she listened to whatever Bobby was telling her. Briefly he wondered if they were talking about him but pushed that aside as he pulled the diner door open and walked inside. Ignoring the welcoming waitress, he headed directly towards them.   
  
The older hunter looked up and nodded in welcome. “Speaking of the devil,” he muttered and looked at Emma.   
  
She turned and smiled a little. As he reached their booth, Sam glared down at the both of them.   
  
“Hey, Sam,” she said. “I thought for awhile there that you really weren’t coming back.”   
  
“You two forgot how to use your cell phones?” Sam demanded and crossed his arms, trying to keep in the rush of relief at seeing them alive and well. “Don’t you know _christo_ that sometimes people wanna get in touch with you?”   
  
Bobby glared at Sam. “Boy, if I was possessed, you’d be on the other side of the diner by now. Now sit down.” He indicated to the empty spot beside Emma.   
  
He blinked at the older hunter’s hard words and glanced down at Emma, who wordlessly scooted over to make room. He slid into the booth and felt like he took up most of Emma’s half of the table. “Uh, I can probably get a chair and sit on the end,” he grunted self-consciously.   
  
Emma’s hand rested on his thigh for a moment and squeezed it. “Nah, I’m good,” she replied and grinned. Sam saw more than amusement and innuendo in her smile, those emotions masked the fear and worry she had no doubt carried around for days. Not that she’d ever admit to that with Bobby around.   
  
Sam grabbed a menu and looked it over. “Why are you two here?” he asked. “I called you both, and no one was answering.” His stomach growled with anticipation, demanding sustenance. He hadn’t eaten the last twenty-four hours, so it was no wonder he had the appetite of a horse.   
  
“Bobby was in the vicinity, so I thought it was time we met face-to-face,” Emma said and shrugged.   
  
“Didn’t realize there was demonic activity here.” Sam cocked an eyebrow at Bobby.   
  
“There was, until about two days ago, when a certain idjit named Sam Winchester decided to taken them out single handed.”   
  
Bobby’s keen gaze burned a hole straight through Sam’s skull, and it became hard to maintain eye contact. “Look, Bobby, I know you’re just trying to help –” he began.   
  
“But _nothing_ ’. You ain’t got the sense God gave you, Sam,” Bobby interrupted. “Think Dean wants you going after these things alone, especially after . . .?”   
  
Sam shook his head gently in a silent plea for the other man to leave the rest of that question unasked.   
  
“After . . . what?” Emma asked. Sam could feel her curious gaze settle on him; in it laid a gentle demand. She wanted to know what was going on – wanted to understand and be a part of his life. Even now, when things were at their darkest, this stubborn, beautiful woman refused to remain in the dark where she’d be safe.   
  
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but their waitress arrived to take his order. Sam got the largest plate of pancakes and eggs they had, and then played with the menu after the woman left. Anything to keep from actually speaking about that which he had no desire to say out loud.   
  
“After _what_ , Sam?” Emma repeated a few moments later.   
  
“Can we talk about this another time? I’m starving and really need some sleep.”   
  
“So you can duck out while I’m sleeping or researching? No way, _cher_. You’re stuck here until you spill it.”   
  
Sam looked over at Bobby, but the older man simply smiled and slid out of the booth. “She’s right, Sam. Sometimes you gotta own up and let someone else in.”   
  
“Where are you going?”   
  
“Need to interview a victim at a hospital in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The man claims he was mauled by a bear, but I’ve heard talk of a wendigo in those parts.” Bobby glanced at Emma. “You’ll call when you got that info I need?”   
  
She smiled. “Sure thing, Bobby. Anything for a friend. Nice finally putting a face to the name, too.”   
  
“Same here, Emma.” Bobby clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam looked up. There was a warning in the older hunter’s eyes: _Don’t screw this up, bonehead._ With a nod of resignation, Sam agreed. Bobby disappeared out the door, and Sam and Emma watched him get into his antique car and drive off.   
  
For a moment, neither said a word. Sam slid into the other side of the booth, giving both of them more room, but being across from her was much harder than he realized. Seeing her, knowing she was okay and not in danger . . . his heart shouldn’t be pounding as hard as it did. Why wasn’t he still numb from despair?   
  
“When’d you get in?” Emma asked. Her words cut through the veil of tension that lingered between them.   
  
“Late last night.” His eyes scanned her face, arms, and every place of her body that was visible from where he was seated. She seemed okay physically – beautiful to boot.   
  
“Sam?”   
  
His attention focused on her face, and he saw the flicker of something there. “What?” he asked.   
  
“What’s going on with you?” she asked and folded her arms on the table. “You leave without a word on whether you’re coming back or not, tracked me and Bobby down this morning. Now you’re checking me out like I’m a piece of property to be bought. What’s with the ‘running hot and cold’ routine?”   
  
She had no idea. “It’s complicated, Emma,” he said after a moment. “I’m not sure whether you should know what’s going on.”   
  
“Why not? I’m going to hear it through the hunter grapevine eventually. Better to get it from the horse’s mouth.”   
  
“Yeah, about that. Since when have you researched for hunters?”   
  
“For awhile now, ever since you gave me Bobby’s number. I called him, and he started bringing me cases in my area along with hunters who needed a contact person there.” She shrugged. “So I figured, what the hell. I love helping others.”   
  
“And you’re helping Bobby, too?”   
  
“Just with this case right now. Mostly doing grunt work for him.” She smiled and Sam watched her eyes twinkle with amusement. “He says I’m his extra pair of legs – I get to pull the all-night cram sessions at the library while he scouts the physical areas.”   
  
“So that’s why you weren’t at the hotel last night?”   
  
“Yeah.” She cocked her head to the side and regarded him for a long moment. Her sharp, intelligent gaze made Sam uncomfortable; he was hard-pressed to remain still in his seat. “Don’t tell me you were worried that something’d happened to me.”   
  
“That’s exactly what I thought,” he blurted out and leaned forward across the table. “You turned your cell off and didn’t get my text.”   
  
“Hey, I don’t jump to attention just because you texted me,” she pointed out. “I had things to do.”   
  
Sam leaned back against the seat. “Clearly,” he replied and frowned.   
  
A look passed over her face. The corner of her mouth twitched, as if fighting a smile. “But I got your text this morning.”   
  
“Good thing, because otherwise I’d have never found you.”   
  
Her eyes widened. “You used the GPS on my phone to figure out where I was? Color me impressed.”   
  
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t lying in a ditch somewhere.”   
  
“Now you sound like a worried mama, _cher_. Stop. I can take care of myself.”   
  
“Not with the likes of Lillith running around. She’s the queen mother load of _bad_ , and I don’t want you to get hurt.”   
  
“I’ve heard about her,” she whispered. “But from what Bobby’s said, she could be anywhere. Besides, what would she want with me?”   
  
“You and I, we have . . . a connection. She wants me, dead. Emma, do you understand that? She’ll use anyone I care about to achieve that purpose. Look at what happened to Dean.”   
  
“She . . . was the one who unleashed the . . . Hellhounds?”   
  
“She held Dean’s contract. Killed him, then went after me.”   
  
Emma looked like she was struggling with words, because for a full minute she didn’t say anything. Finally, she asked, “Why did she leave you alive, Sam?”   
  
Sam hesitated. _Should I tell her? Doesn’t she have a certain right to know, having been through this with me for the last year? Would it matter that her life could become more dangerous once I did?_ His mind ran frantic with a million questions, but the open honesty in Emma’s hazel eyes forced him to realize that it didn’t matter. She wanted to know and seemed like it was important that she did, almost as if her own life depended on it. “She didn’t, Emma. I somehow . . . repelled her.”   
  
“Repelled her?” Emma asked, blinking in surprise. “How?”   
  
“I have no idea, just that the white burning light she threw at me had no affect whatsoever.” Admitting it out loud made Sam feel like a first-class freak, a special brand of psycho. He did not want to have this conversation with Emma, not in the middle of a crowded diner where any number of the patrons, hostesses, or wait staff could be possessed.   
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam up a hand up and touched his finger to her lips. “Not here, Em,” he whispered. “Can we talk later? I promise when we get back to – ”   
  
Emma nodded mutely as the waitress interrupted them with his food. He dug into his breakfast and ate with a gusto he hadn’t experienced since before Dean died. Maybe that came from being able to share this burden with someone else. Perhaps it was her presence, the soothing touch she seemed to bring with her – what he’d always wanted and now longed for. Whatever it was, Sam enjoyed the moment where he didn’t feel like the burden of the world rested on his shoulders.   
  


  
  
Sam knew the moment they got back to the hotel that Emma would start up with her favorite game of “Twenty Questions”, but to his surprise, she remained rather quiet. He shut the door behind them and watched her cross the room and sit on the edge of the unmade bed, the one they had separately shared. She seemed distracted, as if in deep thought; when she frowned – flawless skin wrinkling with the motion – Sam figured her mind was on what he’d said in the diner.   
  
“Emma,” he started, strode to her, and sat down next to her. He went to put an arm around her, but she scooted away from him.   
  
“Why does Lillith want you dead, Sam?” she asked without looking at him. “Are you a threat to her? Is that what this whole ‘repelled her’ thing’s about?”   
  
Her questions made him recall the powerfully strong force that had sought an out during his most recent exorcism. It made him wonder if there _was_ something about him that was so compelling that a demon would want him dead. Surely it had nothing to do with the blood the Yellow-Eyed Demon gave him as a baby, did it?   
  
Ruby had called him a ticking time bomb. Did that mean he possessed the ability to do things to demons? Was this why he’d been forced to endure trials against people just like him? Was he supposed to learn the same things Ava had, to let his mind go and – like a switch being flipped – open himself to the great evil that wanted him?   
  
Rather than divulge his troubled thoughts, Sam shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Seems that way. There’s something inside me, Emma. Something . . . evil? Dangerous? I wish I knew.”   
  
“You are many things, Sam Winchester. Evil isn’t one of them.” Emma’s words – so certain and honest – rang through his being and rang in his soul. She had faith in him, knew he would always do the right thing.   
  
Which was exactly why he could never tell her how he’d nearly begged Ruby to teach him how to use whatever abilities he’d been given, why he could never tell her about the freakish side of his nature – the headaches, the visions. The fear he would fall into darkness and never find the light again.   
  
Heaviness settled around his heart. He realized that while he’d been grieving over Dean, she had as well. Emma wanted to be here to help however she could, and he reacted by literally pushing her away and taking off. He inwardly swore and shook his head. _Winchester, you’re an idiot._ “Emma,” he said and took her hand, “I’m sorry for acting like an ass lately.”   
  
She turned sad, worried eyes to him and stared at him. “It’s okay, _cher_. You’re grieving. I get that. I did the craziest things after I lost my parents.”   
  
“Did you go off on an exorcism spree?” The hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he met her gaze and focused on her lovely face.   
  
She snorted. “No, but I did nearly wrap my car around a tree after my dad died.”   
  
His look of surprise and concern must have amused her, because she laughed and let go of his hand to clap him on the shoulder. “What can I say? Alcohol makes you do strange things.” She smoothed her hand down his arm and took his hand again.   
  
Slightly comforted by the caress, Sam moved so he faced her directly. “Well, good thing that didn’t happen.” He smiled softly. “Can’t imagine what my life would be if I didn’t have you in it.” He watched her eyes grow wide just before she looked down at their joined hands. A pleasing blush crept into her cheeks and made him want to tease her a little more: anything to put her at ease, to let her know she was important to him.   
  
Just how important, Sam didn’t want to explore. However, seeing her and Bobby converse and get to know each other reinforced the fact that they cared about him, whether he lived or died. There was still a kind of connection to the world, despite Dean’s dying and leaving him alone. Sam would not let that go easily.   
  
“What’s next?” Emma asked after a moment of comfortable silence between them. She looked up and smiled widely at him. “Got a hunt lined up or something?”   
  
_Or something_ , Sam thought, but he couldn’t tell her that. “Nothing right now, but I’m going to move on and see what I can find.”   
  
“I’m coming with you,” she said and squeezed his hand in emphasis.   
  
Despite the warmth thoughts of being with her 24/7 evoked, Sam knew that could never happen. He stood up and let go of her hand. “You know I can’t let that happen,” he said and took a couple steps away from her.   
  
“Why the hell not?” she asked. “I want to be with you, Sam. That means . . . being where you are. Hence the term.”   
  
“It’s dangerous, Em. Much too dangerous for you to be around me right now.” He turned around and faced her, saw the rejection and hurt in her eyes before she could mask it behind irritation.   
  
“Tell me why,” she said and crossed her arms. Her defensiveness only made her more beautiful in his eyes, because she wasn’t one to go down without a fight. The woman had stamina – in a number of ways. Determination and sheer stubbornness that only added to her attractiveness.   
  
Sam ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm the thoughts swirling in his mind. Being aroused was the last thing they needed. “Because . . . because if Lillith wants me dead, you think she gave up just because I have some immunity from her? Don’t you think she’ll be sending out her minions to try and corner me? Attack the people I care about and use them to get to me?” The words came out in a breathless gush, and before he gave her a chance to answer, Sam closed the distance between them, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her soundly.   
  
Her soft, pliable lips against his, the passion of her kisses lit him up like an inferno. He demanded and she gave; he knew she wanted him by the way she grabbed his neck and held his head while her lips moved against his urgently. Every fiber in his being was heightened by her presence: her scent, her taste, the anticipation of what would happen if he picked her up and carried her to the bed . . . but Sam couldn’t let that happen, wasn’t going to take advantage of her like that, no matter how badly they both wanted each other.   
  
Breaking their kiss, he cupped her face in his hands and gazed intently into her eyes. She looked as dazed as he felt, which was encouraging. “Emma, I mean it when I say that I care about you,” he whispered in a low, rough voice. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”   
  
Emma frowned. “But you’re not going to tell me where you’re going.”   
  
“I’ll keep in touch this time; I promise.”   
  
She laughed and pulled away from his hands. “Yeah right,” she said and turned towards the table in the corner, where her laptop lay. “You said that the last time, and where’d it get me? A three-day wait and a call from _Bobby_.” She grabbed her computer and, with a flop into the seat, flipped it open. “So pardon me if I call bullshit on _you_ , Winchester.” She appeared suddenly fascinated by her computer booting up, and it took Sam a moment to realize she was actually mad at him.   
  
He chuckled and put his hands on his hips. “I guess I deserve that.” He walked to the table and sat down in the chair opposite her. Watching her pretend to ignore him, he reached across the small table and grabbed her left arm. “Let’s made a deal.”   
  
“Last time I checked, you don’t have a million bucks to fork over,” she said and sniffed in disdain, though Sam saw the hint of a smile cross her lips.   
  
“No seriously, I tell you what. You agree not to come after me on a hunt – because you _will_ get hurt if you do – ” he interrupted when she looked up and opened her mouth to protest “ – and we’ll agree to meet up someplace that’s close by, say, every couple weeks or so?”   
  
Emma looked at him warily and cocked an eyebrow. “Every two weeks, huh? And what happens if you don’t show up or call to schedule our meeting time? I got a life too, you know.”   
  
“So you keep telling me.”   
  
“I just can’t drop what I’m doing just to hit the road and not have you show up.”   
  
Sam took the laptop from her, set it on the table, and closed the lid. “Got that,” he whispered and tugged at her arm to move to his side of the table.   
  
“And . . . I do have some research for hunters along the coast who . . . uh . . . need me,” she continued as she got up and moved over to sit on his lap. Her arms wound around his neck while Sam rested one large hand on her hips. The other ran through her hair and fingered the silky waves of ebony.   
  
“Mmmhmm,” he murmured and pulled her face to his. “So . . . deal?”   
  
Her lips brushed his gently and she whispered, “Deal. That way, I’ll know you’re still alive.”   
  
“And I’ll know you still give a damn about me,” he replied and met her light kisses with his own. He felt her stiffen a little in his embrace and pulled back to find a funny look on her face. “You do, right?” he asked and ran a finger over her face, down her cheek, and traced the outline of her lips.   
  
She nodded and opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Sam wondered what was going on behind her dark hazel eyes but wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask, not when he saw some sort of inner battle being waged there. To help her solve whatever problem she struggled with, he leaned forward and kissed her gently in reassurance. His kiss held a promise to keep, no matter what the cost.   
  
When he pulled away, she looked like a child who’d been rewarded with her favorite candy. “What?” he asked and smiled at her.   
  
“I should, um, let you sleep,” she said and slid off his lap. The movement caused his lower body to stir uncomfortably.   
  
He didn’t want to admit it, but he was exhausted, despite the emotions and arousal churning in his veins. Emma returned to her original seat and grabbed her laptop. “Hey, you gonna stay here?” he asked. “Until I leave?”   
  
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere else, if that’s okay with you,” she replied, her gaze intense on the screen before her.   
  
“Good,” he said and stood up. Discarding his shirt and going to his duffel, he pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms. “Then you work on whatever you’re doing, and I’ll crash for a little while.” Assuming she was paying more attention to her laptop, he changed into his sleep bottoms and pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head. He became aware of her watching him and the heat her gaze gave off as he slipped into the unmade bed and stretched out.   
  
Turning on his side to face her, Sam watched her work and listened to the quiet clacking of the keys as her hands flew across the keyboard. They settled into the silence as one entity – their pact settling between them like a lover’s caress. Sam vowed to keep his promise, no matter what his future intentions were. He _had_ to let her know he was alive and okay – and thinking of her. He felt his eyelids grow drowsy and drifted off to sleep.   
  


  
  
The highway stretched in front of him, flat and endless, but with the windows down and his favorite song blaring, Sam didn’t mind looking at the flat plains and farmlands of southern Illinois. For once, his mind wasn’t plagued with thoughts of darkness and despair, though he figured that would come soon enough.   
  
All he wanted was to remember Emma, her flirtatious smile and warm eyes that spoke of promises yet unfulfilled. Of their parting, sweet and hopeful. He would see her in two weeks, the agreed destination would be Memphis, Tennessee. While the time and place would be discussed over email and texts, Sam wished the days would fly by until he saw her again.   
  
It was the solitary light in his otherwise meaningless existence. Dean was gone, but he still had tethers to this world, and Sam was glad that Emma Boudreaux was one of them.


End file.
